Even as the stages have grown exponentially into yearly stadium/park-sized venues, the North Shields songwriter is still rattling around the same stomping grounds, but where before he was attacking the societal state writ large (2019's Hypersonic Missiles), before turning a bit more inwards (2021's Seventeen Going Under), now he's going proper granular. He's returning home after a handful of years filling those seats with bums ready to spectate the apparent heir to the Springsteen throne (UK Contingency) – a title he gallantly approaches with the opening five-minute soar of the anthemic titular track.
People Watching spotlights perhaps Fender's biggest strength – his ability to inhabit others' stories. His third outing feels more introspective, without losing any of that gargantuan shine or him feeling like a stranger. The stories unfurl with the same soaring and sweeping choruses, particularly from the titular get-go, ambitiously clocking in at over five minutes to set those crowds alight. But, it's as we wander the streets alongside Fender that life is breathed into the stark reality.
Following the opener, comes “Nostalgia’s Lie” toting more full-force anthemic energy. “Chin Up” then swells with its heart-tugging strings and boots-on-the-ground balladry dealing with drug addiction. "Wild Long Lie” is the first interesting prospect that appears. Concerning hometown friends spewing shit at yearly reunions, it’s here the production allows this head-shaking scenario to breathe in its musical gaps, with a Kurt Vile "Pretty Pimpin'" unrelentingly bouncing intensity, even on the album's longest cut at over six minutes.
Within the mid-section is where things become grainier. “Arm’s Length” and “Crumbling Empire” feel like an unsatisfying offering after the strength of the opening run. Things are more meandering, which is saying something given the length of the prior tracks. They tend to let the tempo gestate, the former magnifying cursory romance, while the latter muses upon the decrepit state of the world (specifically Detroit, but Fender brings it all back home as he ever does). Its most interesting moment comes from Fender's admittance of his renewed place in the world with the lyric "I'm not preaching, I'm just talking / I don't wear the shoes I used to walk in". Still, the hooks are plenty but only when they're glimpsed through the War On Drugs' Adam Granduciel production, which has done as anticipated – giving Fender a fresh sonic palette to toy with.
Certainly, People Watching feels more ambitious. Brooding sonics such as “TV Dinner” bring out more interest in where Fender could move too next. Retaining the dark undertow of his original outlook (“Deadboys” and “Spice Up Your Life” from his debut EP showcase this excellently), it suffocates with its building frenzy which never quite boils over. "Something Heavy" could be a cut from a Nashville songwriter's room floor. Closer "Remember Me" ties together a familial connection with a colliery brass band soundtracking Fender's belting ode to his grandparents and poignantly rounds off a third outing that, while Hypersonic Missiles and Seventeen Going Under brazenly reached for those larger arenas he’s now at home in, seeks to bring people together, be it in his vignettes of everyday working-class life, or arm-in-arm at his shows.
It's in this interspersing of human contact that emerges a figure with a penchant for hooks, sewing them into a patchwork of modern life like few others in the current musical climate. Fender stands taller than ever, retaining his ascension to that oft-compared throne.
